


Interrupted

by Morphologist



Series: The House of the British Empire [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America has already gained independence, And this is just the tip of the iceberg, Australia is a young badass, Confrontations, Dysfunctional Relationships, Eavesdropping, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, England is brutal, Gen, Historical References, Mentions of other colonies, Multi, Physical Abuse, References to Starvation, Theft, Unfortunately Canada hasn't, Verbal Abuse, Violence, a one-shot within an overarching plot, imagine waging a custody battle for several centuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-18 03:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11865510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morphologist/pseuds/Morphologist
Summary: In this one-shot, Australia, is one of the newest additions to the British Empire. He is still finding his place in the workings of the giant mansion where England and the representations of most of his territories are forced to live. In the House of the British Empire, everyone revolves around one person's orders, and that person is England. Australia gets around the giant house via crawling through the rafters, and has becomes adept at snatching snacks from the kitchen and slipping by unnoticed. Despite being a clever kleptomaniac, he finds himself over his head when one average escapade to the kitchen leads him into the heart of an argument much older than himself. Part of an ongoing series: "House of the British Empire".





	1. The House in Australia's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is a description of the House of the British Empire and its dynamics through Australia's young eyes. The story itself begins in the second chapter. If you want to go straight to the story, feel free to skip past this chapter. This first part grants some added depth to how the House feels like to young Australia.  
> 

Australia remembered England’s household. The regimented schedule, the endless errands, the high expectations, and the ever-present aroma of spices wafting from the kitchen. The few days of laughter, the many days of hiding, listening, learning, fighting. England was a man with an internal clock set to having good days and bad days back to back, sometimes good hours and bad hours within the same day.

Good days meant laughter that was even contagious. Silence was the best thing to have in the house by far. Because England’s yells, the sounds of crashing, some colony crying out- were all too common occurrences. Australia was pretty sure that England meant to seem threatening only half the time, even though it felt like nearly all the time. When England was silent or smiling, it was hard not to interpret as the calm before a storm. England was sharp-tongued around everyone, including the other European nations. He could laugh, sure. He had his happy moments. He could be friendly, even. Sometimes he’d call a colony’s name, and when that colony came running, expecting some kind of an order to carry out, he would hand them a gadget that just went on the market and teach them how to use it. He sometimes brought a colony or two with him on business trips. Australia once heard India (who was really the state of Delhi, but who everyone acknowledged as simply “India” much in the same way that England had come to represent “Britain”) mutter to his brothers, that England talked too much on these trips. He would ramble on and on about his past exploits. Ironically, it was on these trips that he yelled at the colonies less. What he really did was complain about the other European powers, his competitors. England didn’t have any friends. Not real ones anyway. India once told Australia that the closest thing England had to a friend was America- who became independent just a few weeks ago.

Sometimes England would offer to let some of his colonies borrow minor possessions of his, like he let Canada and America use his telescope to watch the stars from the roof at night. England showered his favorite colonies with gifts. It was easy to tell which colonies England adored- and which ones he almost entirely ignored. Some colonies got almost nothing, despite doing the same amount of work (or more work) than the others. 

Everyone feared England, because his cruelty came in frightening explosions with intervals of relative calm in between. One misplaced tray, one reply from a subordinate that came across as too snide, a demanding letter from his boss, a shipment of tea that didn’t come on time- it could be just about anything. The colonies treasured the days in which all he did was snap a couple of orders, then lock himself up in his study and immerse himself in his work. It was best when he just ignored what was going on around him. Sometimes he would pick a colony to come to his study, and just chat with them. For hours sometimes, seemingly just because he was bored. He would ask them about their day, how their economic progress was, while sorting through paperwork. He would nod and such, but the colony never felt like he was truly listening. They’ve long since given up trying to have their opinions heard. They knew serious complications could arise if they considered leaving this house. England answered to his bosses and his bosses had the colonies’ bosses in tow. The colonies all knew they were under a loose form of house arrest. Some attempted independence before, but America was the only one who managed to break free so far.

Australia was one of the youngest colonies. Dodging the spotlight wasn’t hard. For some others, dodging the spotlight was damn near impossible. Trying to retort was an offense that could warrant any number of punishments, from a simple scolding to a whipping or forced fast. Punishments had everything to do with England’s stress level that day. On some days he was too exhausted from a day’s work to care. Some days he’d raise his fist (or a cane or a whip) and deal with the problem himself. Usually, he had a way of making the colonies hold each other down, with minimal direct involvement. There was a system of orders, and checking and balancing. As much as you’d think their similar struggles would bring the colonies together, it was very much an everyone-for-themselves sort of household. Mostly they were just too tired to reach out to one another. Sometimes there were instances of kindness, reassurance, and collaboration. Sometimes, they actively worked against each other, despite having a common goal they had to follow through for the empire. In short, unpredictability was the norm.

Australia knew how to navigate this terrain. He was a pro at it. His mind operated well beyond its years, but he only looked about ten years old.

He loved to jump out from behind doors and surprise older colonies that were walking by. One time he pounced on Punjab’s leg from behind and Punjab whirled around and chased after Australia, brandishing his broom. Australia was pretty sure that all of India’s brothers had an issue with him. Another time, Australia slipped a lizard into Spain’s salad when the empire came over for lunch. The high pitched scream that escaped Spain was totally worth the three day time-out he got afterwards, in which Australia wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything. Australia still recalled the two colonies Spain had around at the time, Haiti and Cuba, snickering at the sight of Spain flailing around in his chair.

Australia has made a habit of hiding behind England’s silk curtains to scare his little brother New Zealand too. New Zealand was very small. He looked like a six year old. Maori put up such a fight, that England almost didn’t manage to set up New Zealand as a colony at all. Australia had tried to suppress his memories of that event as well, but he knew that for New Zealand, the scars of battle were a lot fresher. Australia wondered about America, who they had all been restricted from communicating as freely with as they had before. Australia guessed that America, now living entirely on his own, may very well be employing the same methods that England had in order to gain more living space for himself. By being not just brutal- but suppressing the memories of his own ruthlessness along the way.

When there was yelling somewhere in the house, Australia tiptoed around corners, distributing his weight as he crept up the stairs so that they wouldn’t creak, looking over his shoulder. And most importantly, climbing from room to room via the rafters. That was mostly for fun. Yeah, he loved hanging out on the ceiling, in the shadows. It was a gigantic colonial house on a wide sprawling estate- there was plenty of space to make do with in every room. Furnished exquisitely but not in an extravagant way, rather more practical and economical than France or Spain’s houses. England wasn't much for pointlessly expensive rugs in all his rooms or gold work on windowsills and such, though it wasn’t quite as spartan as Holland’s house apparently was. It was amazing how often everyone forgot to look up into the rafters. Australia could listen in on whole conversations from up there and slip away unnoticed.

Since England didn’t know how to cook, and whenever he tried, he’d start a fire and dash out of the kitchen, scolding the nearest person for not attending to the fire fast enough - he had the Indian states doing most of the cooking for him. Sometimes the other colonies would chip in to help. America and Canada were left on a relatively free rein. Like real children. With real childhoods. They both looked sixteen year olds now, and Australia had a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that America actually succeeded in breaking out of the household.

America, also known as Thirteen, used to be the loudest member of the household. Unlike England, his behavior was more or less consistent. Boisterous and optimistic with a clear competitive streak, he talked even more than England. One could hear his booming laughter emanating between floors. “No running in the hall!” England snapped, whenever he caught America zooming by. But America ignored him, giggling as he sprinted away. If anyone else had done that, England would have ordered another colony to chase them down, but everyone knew that America was different. He was the real favorite. America loved to climb trees, go hunting and trapping, then bring his catch into the house. The truth is, when he was younger, he liked to have England’s attention.

Once he dragged a whole dead buffalo into the foyer. “ Hey England, look what I caught!” he cried. England spit out his tea. “ You’re getting blood all over the carpet, boy! Get the damn thing outside! Do you want someone to slip on the stuff and split their head open? Good heavens!” he cried.

“ I was just thinking we could have buffalo curry tonight!” America chuckled, lifting the buffalo’s head up by one horn, causing more blood to gush out from a gash on its neck. “Whoops! I guess that really is a lot of blood, hahaha! Anyway, whaddya think, man? Whaddya say?”

“ OUTSIDE! NOW!” England roared.

“ Hahaha, okey dokey!” America laughed, dragging it back out the door, whistling to himself.

“ Canada, get a rag and wipe the blood up will you?” England muttered. Canada, who was standing to the side, immediately got to it.

Canada and America were like night and day. Canada walked with his head down, keeping that little white bear (an albino Kodiak cub) by his side at all times. Australia watched Canada a lot, mostly out of curiosity with how Canada could look so much like America and yet be nothing like him at all. Most of the other colonies didn’t pay Canada much attention. Some even forgot he was there. He was just quiet, unassuming, oddly detached. If England ordered Canada to do something, the boy would try to do it right away. And when Canada did something incorrectly, England would smack his head and order him to his room. And as usual, Canada would amble away, keeping any kind of retort to himself.

When England scolded Canada, he usually wouldn’t do it around the other colonies. After all, Canada was the closest to him by blood, just like America. Though England could go on and on about how he was trying to help everyone in this house, everyone knew that he put special, almost fatherly attention, on America first, and Canada second.

Australia found Canada crying quietly in the cellar once. Sitting among wines that France had imported to the colonies.

France. That guy. Canada’s real father figure. Everyone knew that France was more than just another rival to England. Canada and America both had France’s blood in them as well as England’s. Not only that, they even had some of the features of the two. Canada’s long hair was just like France’s. Whereas America had England’s toughness, Canada had France’s elegance.

Delhi often leaned in the doorway of the kitchen. Hyderabad and Kashmir often escaped running errands for the empire since they maintained almost total sovereignty. Delhi was technically the one who everyone acknowledged as India himself, even though Bengal and Punjab were always around doing half the cooking. Much in the same way England was seen to simply be Great Britain, even though Scotland and Wales lived down the street. Scotland is that weird uncle who shows up on the weekends just to annoy England and complain about everything. Wales was the quiet uncle, who liked to pester England by leading some sheep onto the lawn to eat his grass once in a while. Australia always saw Scotland and Wales as role models. His first given name was “New South Wales” after all.

India and his other territories looked older than England. Some of them, much older. Australia always got the impression that the Indian states were biding their time, and that Bengal was their real leader when England wasn’t in the house. England prized the Indian states’ presences a lot, but that didn’t mean he treated them better. In fact, he often treated them worse. It was a tacit agreement between everybody that without the Indian states, England could not have procured so many other colonies and his current state of wealth. The states knew their importance, hated the fact that their importance was advancing someone else’s importance, but didn’t have a safe way to break themselves out of the situation yet.

One day when he was just a toddler, he befriended what he thought was a baby caiman. It turned out to be a crocodile. But the crocodile imprinted on him, like a duckling to a mother goose, and it followed him everywhere. He was overjoyed, dubbed his newfound friend “Steve” and fed Steve shares of scraps he stole from the kitchen.

England didn’t give Australia as many toys as he gave America and Canada, and Australia always felt annoyed about that. So he wrestled for the few toys England gave New Zealand (which usually left the younger guy in tears) and found other ways to entertain himself, like catching snakes and selling the skins with other colonies and countries for extra cash, and carving didgeridoos out of acacia wood.

Didgeridoos are an aboriginal instrument. Australia was involved in the endeavor of his own expansion, and as a teenager he found himself fighting the people who had inhabited his territory for generations longer than himself. Older tribes and nations than him, who thought they could trust England. But Australia knew that England wasn’t always a man of his word. He grew up in England’s household so he knew this better than anyone. England only cared about himself, and Australia knew full well that England just saw him as an extension of himself. In England's eye, anything standing in the way of his interests needed to be dealt with quickly, and violence was a common measure. Australia wanted to get away from England, just like every other person in this house. But he didn’t have the means to, and he didn’t have America’s guts to make a gamble like independence.

Australia, having grown up with very little direct guidance from England, but under the man’s judging eye nonetheless, became very good at fighting, even better at thievery, and became physically stronger the harsher England treated the aborigines. Australia was a young child, still figuring things out. But he was aware even at this age, that he had blood on his hands already. 


	2. Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are references to starvation in this. Bengal suffered many waves of starvation throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, and this was directly a result of the British East India Company's policies and strict control of resources within the state. Bengal's declined health in this one-shot is a reference to a famine that occurred in the 1770's, one of the first instigated by the East India Company. There were many more, and the British East India Company plus the British government were to blame. Australia was a partially charted territory at this time, not a full fledged colony yet, but well on its way to becoming one.

Today Australia wasn’t in a good mood. Not at all. He’d scared New Zealand that morning, a little too much perhaps, and the little bastard dashed to England’s study crying at the top of his lungs: “ Australia punched me!” Which Australia most certainly did, and he didn’t regret it one bit. Australia was grounded to the basement/cellar for the rest of the day (not that he cared, since that was basically his bedroom anyway, it was called “Down Under” for a reason). Australia didn’t care much since he knew that he could slip out of there at literally any time of the night and no one would notice.

Australia sat on his creaky mattress and when New Zealand walked in, he completely ignored him. New Zealand didn’t open his mouth either- they were both quite sick of each other by this point. New Zealand climbed onto his mattress (balanced in the rafters over several wine barrels that Italy sent, neither him nor Australia had proper beds) and dozed off. Australia glared at him, and after a full minute of debate, concluded that maybe he ought not to push New Zealand off the ceiling tonight and just put that off to tomorrow morning.

Australia’s stomach growled. Hunger- the background noise that had been running in his head the whole day- now hit him full force.

“ Crikey…” he muttered. He turned to Steve and whispered: “ Oi, Stevey, whaddya want from the kitchen?”

“ Grraahrrr.” Steve the crocodile said.

“ I can’t get my hands on wombat meat at the moment, but I could get us some cookies.”

“ Gr… AWrawr.” Steve replied.

“ Alrighty, chocolate chip it is!”

“ Greh.” Steve added.

“ Milk too? I thought you were lactose intolerant.”

“ Grehbbrrr!” Steve exclaimed.

“ Alright, mate. Just don't want you to get a tummy ache.”

“ Grehllll.” Steve mumbled.

“ Alrighty, I’ll get my hands on some ricemilk then. I’ll be right back, sit tight.” Australia patted Steve on the head. He hopped to his feet and tiptoed quickly up the staircase. He opened the door a crack, and slid out into the first floor hallway.

The House of the British Empire was cold at night. Australia rubbed his hands together and looked both ways down the hall. The hall to the cellar was one of the longest in the house, and he knew it’d take him a full five minutes to reach the kitchen without making any noise. He looked up at the rafters. Decisively, he hauled himself up bit by bit until he was concealed in the shadows of the ceiling’s alternating woodwork. There were four smells Australia liked in this house: wood, dust, sweet grass, and India’s cooking.

He crept down the hall via the ceiling, passing over paintings of England’s previous bosses, figures such as Queen Elizabeth the First, Henry the Eighth, George the Third, etc. Australia followed the bend in the hallway as it opened up in two directions and he took the right. The house was quiet around him. But not completely quiet. He thought he heard someone breathing through the walls. It was coming from England’s study.

Australia slowed his pace as he passed by the study, and looked in.

England sat in his oak wood chair, arms draped over the rests. He glared up at a figure wearing a royal blue coat, with golden hair that reflected the dim lamplight emanating from across the room.

France. Shit.

“ You have the gall? To show your face here so soon after what you did?” England’s words came in a furious whisper, “ As if you couldn’t sink any lower…”

“ A window was open downstairs. And I guess I’m just in the mood to talk.” France shrugged, “ I heard losing your dear little Thirteen was quite the blow.”

“ Brilliant. You came to gloat.”

“ Heh, please.” France scoffed, waving a hand dismissively, “ You have so many other colonies. What makes him so important to you?”

This wasn’t Australia’s first run-in with the two older nations having a private moment together. He could always tell despite how much they acted like they hated one another, there was still a lot going on below the surface. Sometimes it was frenzied arguing. Sometimes actual fistfights that woke the house up. But a surprising amount of the time, it was emotional intimacy.

Whether it was lust or love, Australia wasn’t sure. He was pretty sure that they weren’t certain either. One time Australia had ran into the two actually “doing it”. Australia had been in the rafters as usual and had to wait out the whole thing, which seemed like an eternity. Usually Australia would watch for a few minutes, realize it didn’t make much sense to him at all, and then continue on his way. He was always up in the rafters or on the other side of a door, thankfully he always slipped away unnoticed. It was no secret that France had frequent trysts with England. The perplexing part was how they could be that way with each other, when their animosity was real and raw.

“ Well today it looks like they won’t be making out.” Australia thought, “Thank God.”

Australia continued past the study and down to the end of the hallway where the kitchen was. The kitchen had a lower ceiling without rafters, so Australia halted at the end of the last row of wooden beams and hopped onto the ground, landing on all fours without a sound.

He tiptoed over to the cabinet with all the cold items, and was about to reach for the door when he saw a figure seated on the floor, leaning against the pantry door.

His breath caught in his throat.

One panicked thought flashed across his mind: “ Who is it, bloody hell, who is it?”

As his eyes adjusted to the shadows he realized it was none other than Bengal, one of the India brothers, who had simply fallen asleep right there on the kitchen floor. Bengal looked terribly thin, and Australia wondered why, considering the fact that Bengal spent so much time in the kitchen and in the garden planting things. The man’s chest rose and fell shallowly.

Something was wrong. Bengal had seemed very ill since coming to the house- but falling asleep on the kitchen floor?

Cautiously, Australia pulled the cabinet door open.

Aha, glass jars of whole milk, sheep milk, soymilk, and rice milk on the bottom level. He snatched a bottle of sheep milk for himself and some ricemilk for Steve. Closing the door deftly behind him, he crawled onto the counter and opened the afternoon tea cabinet. The cookies beckoned from the fourth level of the cabinet, and he hoisted himself onto the bottom rung with one foot and gripped the third level with his left. He reached out with his right for the fourth.

Suddenly he hobbled.

“ Agh, bloody-!” he began, but stopped himself from keeling over by leaning forward at the last second, almost hitting his forehead on the third rung. That’s odd, his ankle had never almost given out on him like this before. He looked down and saw that a small cut about an inch wide had opened up on his ankle.

“ Not again…” he thought. Somewhere in his home territory, a skirmish must have broken out between his colonists and an aboriginal tribe. His heart sank. He hated feeling like this all the time, never knowing quite when he’ll sustain a random injury and whether one might be big enough to take his life. He was still a young colony, and the mortality rate for young colonies was definitely higher than that of older colonies. It all came with the territory, literally and metaphorically speaking.

Frustrated now, he grasped the cookie jar, took out six cookies as gingerly as possible, and set it back. He closed the cabinet door, put the cookies and milk jars into his knapsack, tiptoed down the countertop to the edge of the kitchen, before hoisting himself onto the rafters again using another cabinet as a ladder.

He exhaled shakily once he was safely in the shadows of the ceiling again, and crawled back down the hall.

Little did he know that once he had turned his back on the kitchen, the figure in the shadows stirred.

Bengal opened one eye, and watched Australia leave. He looked up at the cabinet that Australia had just taken the cookies from. He covered his face with an arm, and closed his eyes again.

Australia really didn’t want to pass England’s study. But that was on the way to the staircase leading down to the basement, he couldn’t avoid it.

France and England’s voices were louder. Still not loud enough to be heard from the kitchen, but definitely loud enough to be heard from the middle of the hallway.

“ Angleterre, I wish circumstances could be different, but we’ve been over this before. Neither of us have the luxury of simply being who we want to be, alright? I took America away from you, but I wasn’t the only one who was involved in that fiasco! Spain and Prussia were in on it too! And don’t pretend you didn’t have a hand in it yourself. As a colonial power, you should know better than anyone how best to deal with rebellion! And you practically ignored the boy! What did you expect, idiot?” France snarled.

“ You love it when I’m in pain, you love it, you practically live for it.” England hissed.

“ Live for it? Oh you think all my actions somehow revolve around you? Forget it. You overestimate your importance, as always.”

“ Go before I kick you out the damned door myself! Get out of my sight!”

“ No, I want you to understand exactly why this is no special instance, Arthur. You took one of my most prized colonies away- using America’s strength! You think I’ve forgotten? You laughed at me, at the Treaty of Paris in 1763. You feel bad about losing America, hmm? Well how do you think I felt? Losing Canada?”

“ Leave Canada out of this!”

“ How do you expect me to, huh? Canada was supposed to be mine!"

Australia rolled his eyes, thinking to himself, “ Crikey, can’t they at least close the door?”

The door was open just a sliver. Australia sort of wished he could actually see what was going on, while at the same time wishing he didn’t have to put up with this at all.

Suddenly a shape moved at the other end of the hallway.

Australia froze, eyes widening.

He recognized that silhouette anywhere.

“ Don’t come over here, Canada, oh God…“ Australia thought, wishing that the shadow could just read his mind and get out of there.

But Canada walked slowly forward, his head down.

“ Don’t do it, don’t do it, mate-“

Canada reached the entrance of England’s study.

Australia couldn’t breathe- he wanted to get out- but he knew Canada would notice him the moment he moved. Canada was the only person in the house who he was never good at slipping past unnoticed.

Canada bit his lip. His hair was a mess, hanging in strands over his eyes. It was obvious he had just risen from bed. His hand shook ever so slightly as it reached for the doorknob.

“ America was like a son to me-“

“ And Canada was a son to ME!”

“ You cannot have him!”

“ AMERICA'S NOT YOURS ANYMORE! GET THAT THROUGH YOUR SKULL!”

“ YOU SON OF A BITCH, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN ABLE TO KEEP HIM ANYWAY! HAPPY? YOU HAPPY NOW?” England’s voice rose to match France’s.

“ THEN QUIT MOPING AROUND, YOU FOOL! ADMIT THAT YOU’VE LOST AND THAT IT WAS YOUR OWN FAULT TO BEGIN WITH!”

“ MAYBE IF YOU FOUGHT HARDER, YOU COULD’VE KEPT YOUR PRECIOUS CANADA!”

“ AND MAYBE IF YOU GAVE A DAMN ABOUT AMERICA, HE WOULDN’T HAVE CHOSEN TO LEAVE!”

The harsh ring of an unsheathing blade pierced the air.

Canada yanked the door wide open and stepped inside.

Australia couldn’t believe what he saw.

The point of England’s cutlass hovered just inches above Frances’ head. England stared at Canada over his shoulder, his sharp green eyes wide with panic.

France's left hand was wrapped around a Sharpe Model 1774 pistol. He’d whipped it out and aimed it within the split second England had taken to draw his blade.

France’s finger eased off the trigger. He stared at Canada. Shock was etched into his blue eyes. His gun arm started shaking.

“ Guys…” Canada’s voice was barely above a whisper, “ This has got to be… the fifth time you’ve woken me up.”

England lowered his sword to his side. He let his wrist go limp. The tip of the sword hit the floor.

England watched France’s pistol from the corner of his eye. France holstered his gun. His gaze darted warily back to England. 

“ Mon cher…” France’s voice quivered with emotion. He suddenly marched forward, opened his arms wide to envelop Canada in an embrace.

Canada stepped back sharply, his entire body stiffening like he’d just been stung.

The sorrowful smile dropped from France’s face. He sighed heavily. He took one step back, then another. He folded his arms and seemed to wilt.

England steadied himself against his oak wood desk, but he wasn’t doing much better. He gritted his teeth. Face a mask of fury, but the panic in his nerves kept him from uttering the many curses that boiled beneath the surface. He shook his head, his shoulders hunched, glaring at something in his mind’s eye, putting distance between himself and the intruders.

“ I’m… tired…” Canada croaked. He stood stock still now, his shoulders hunched.

“ You're tired? Then why didn't you stay in bed? We were just talking." England growled. There was something wolfish in his voice, practically ready to lash out again just as he almost had a minute before.

Canada took a deep breath then replied quietly: “ … Only you two would define drawing swords and guns on each other as ‘talking’.”

“ HA! And what do YOU know about US, hmm?” the laugh that escaped England had an edge of hysteria. Canada flinched slightly, but otherwise he stood there motionless. It was a laugh that was gone as soon as it appeared, but it seemed to ring in the air long after it had faded, seared into Australia’s eardrums. Canada clenched his fists.

Australia wanted to run. He wasn’t sure how long he could hang onto his rafter. He couldn’t risk getting caught in this compromised position. This was a disaster he wanted no part of, but the knapsack was heavy and he the strain was building on his wrists...

“ I’m sorry Canada. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from this bastard.” France rasped. He shot England a furious glance.

“ Defend me from the bastard you still fuck once every couple of months?” Canada shot back. He looked up, his violet eyes devoid of emotion, “ Do you love him or do you hate him? Which one is it? If it’s both, make up your mind and just pick one. Do yourself a favor. _Pick one._ ”

France’s jaw dropped slightly. He didn’t lose his composure, he merely blinked and stood up a little taller. As if he was actually impressed Canada made that statement. But there was also a definite streak of suppressed indignation. It looked like he wanted to say something then, but instantly decided against it.

England on the other hand, slammed his fist down on the table. The rage that bubbled underneath his facade finally poured over:

“ _Look, boy..._ ” he spat, throwing down his sword and picking up the cane that was balanced against the other end of his desk. He raised it up as he circled around his desk towards Canada, “I’ve been kind enough to you! If not for me, you wouldn’t even bloody exist! You’re a colony! And don’t you EVER FORGET IT!"

“ IF YOU TOUCH A HAIR ON HIS HEAD I’LL SNAP YOU IN HALF!” France barked. He lunged forward, grabbed England’s collar. England smashed the point of his elbow into France’s chest, knocking him back, using the moment of imbalance to close the distance between himself and his motionless colony.

Australia thought furiously, his hands shaking: “He didn’t do anything wrong, this isn’t his fault. _Leave him alone, just leave him alone. God DAMN YOU!_ "

He was going to lose his balance. He knew it, he had been crammed onto this one rafter and his legs which were wound around the wood were strained to the breaking point. The cogs in his mind spun wildly, and suddenly he knew what he had to do.

Canada braced himself. He turned his head, shut his eyes as England came closer. He gritted his teeth. Waited for the blow to fall.

Australia threw his knapsack to the ground.

The jars of milk shattered with a horrendous crash. Not wasting a split second, he dropped down next to the pile of ruined snacks and bolted for the other end of the hall.

He searched desperately for someone else’s room. Closets, closets. Anything to hide behind.

A broom closet, there, right there-

With one deft move, he shut himself inside.

Pitch dark- he couldn’t see a single thing. A cluster of cobwebs brushed against his hands as he reached up to find anything heavy to conceal himself inside, maybe an especially window-cleaning rag. Brooms everywhere, he tread like he was on eggshells. He couldn’t see where he was heading. Here a broom stick brushed against his left arm, there a prickly broom’s head pressed like needles against his bare feet. He dropped to his knees and pushed himself up to the innermost wall. One of the sticks clattered against the left wall. He lurched out, grabbed it before it could fall any further.

He froze in that position.

It was silent now.

But only for a second.

He couldn’t make out the words at first. Just muffled shouting. England’s voice. Then France’s joined in soon after. Nothing from Canada.

Don’t come over here, please don’t come over here. Oh Lord, stay away.

England’s furious footsteps came closer.

Australia’s heart leaped into his throat. The dust tickled his nose, threatening to break his cover. He wished he could make a move to scratch it, but he was too afraid to move his other arm lest he accidentally bump into another broom.

He breathed slowly, shakily.

In… Out… In… Out…

The footsteps were by the closet now.

They came to a stop.

Silence.

One step. Two steps closer.

The shadows cast by England’s leather boots filtered through the crack under the door, meshing with the dark of the closet.

It’s over. I’m done for.

“ England.” Canada’s voice. “ England, I think they ran that way…”

“ What? Speak up, boy!”

“ That way.” Canada repeated.

One shadow disappeared, then the other.

England’s footsteps faded towards the other end of the hall.

Wait a minute-

The other end of the hall-

The kitchen-

Bengal is in the kitchen.

But Australia was too afraid to move. He didn’t know if he could make a break for the cellar yet, it was still too far.

Suddenly more yells.

And a scream.

Bengal’s.

Australia could only make out three words: “UNBELIEVABLE” “THIEF”,“NERVE”.

Then Canada: “WAIT” “NO” “STOP”.

Before Australia knew it, the heat that had been building behind his eyelids spilled over. He gritted his teeth to keep from making a sound. Wiped the tears clumsily away on his left shoulder. His chest was wound tight like a spring. He couldn’t breathe. A set of claws closed over his heart and squeezed.

I just wanted something to eat… I just wanted something to eat…

Australia wished he’d never been born as a colony. He wished for the fiftieth time that week, that he had just been born human.

The muffled yells and cries became a disgusting accompaniment to the blood pounding in his ears. He scrunched up in the shadows, begging something to just drop from the ceiling and smash him to pieces so he wouldn’t have to face a single soul in the morning. He covered his ears and rocked ever so slightly forward and back, then forward and back again. He bit his lip till the copper taste of blood seeped onto his tongue.

It felt like a decade before the yells and cries finally stopped.

Australia thought he heard muffled footsteps upstairs. But they soon went silent.

Of course, no one wanted to get involved. Not even Bengal's brothers. 

He felt unable to move. Like every movement would just activate another chain reaction of catastrophe.

But he had to move. He had to reach the cellar.

His arms felt like lead as he felt for the doorknob.

Almost there, almost there- got it.

He suppressed the shaking in his nerves long enough to turn the knob, open the door a creak.

He eyed the hall.

France stood right in the middle of the hall.

Standing with his back turned.

Australia inhaled deeply and held his breath. He stepped out, keeping his hand on the door to keep it from creaking, then when it was wide enough, he pushed it back into place, closing it. No evidence could be left that he had hidden there. England would be able to guess it was him since England knew he could fit into small spaces.

He closed the closet, not once taking his eyes off of France’s blue velvet tailcoat.

Now.

He darted for the other end of the hallway, keeping on the tips of his toes, clinging to the shadows along the wall, far away from the lamplight that emanated from England’s study.

His hands curled around the doorknob of the cellar door.

He pulled, it came away soundlessly.

He stepped inside, closed it behind him.

But too hard.

There was a click.

“ No… no…” he dashed down the stairs and nearly tumbled. He got behind the groove in the staircase.

“ No- no- France- right there- up there…” he thought.

He exhaled sharply and inhaled again. It felt like a labor to breathe.

“ He’s going to come down here. He’s going to follow me.”

Australia backed up against the wall, into the corner of the stairs.

He clutched his arms, waiting for the inevitable.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Nothing.

The muffled cries soon turned to intervals of footsteps.

Then quieter talking.

Australia didn’t recall when it dropped to total silence.

He didn’t even pick up on New Zealand’s fitful snores until the sounds above died away.

He tried to breathe normally.

He still couldn’t. Every breath felt like a challenge, like the claws on his heart didn’t want to let go. Not yet.

He heard a soft shuffling on the other side of the room.

The constriction in his chest worsened again. He gripped his chest, another tear sliding down his wet cheeks.

“ …. Grehrrr?”

“ Oh thank god.” Australia breathed out and bent forward to get a better look at his pet crocodile, crawling across the floor to greet him.

“ Steve… crikey. Good God… Come here.”

His pet sidled up to him, and brushed its snout against his legs.

The claws around Australia’s heart began to loosen their grip.

As Australia patted Steve’s scaly head, the rest of his body seemed to unwind like a knot coming undone. His nerves suddenly felt like running water, and his bones and skin were barely enough to keep the chaos inside of him contained. He couldn't stop thinking about Bengal, how frail he looked earlier. How England must have been starving him. He knew it was his fault, this was all his fault. He should've held on harder to that rafter, or else this chain reaction wouldn't have ensued. This was his fault, he already had blood on his hands. 

“ S-sorry, Steve…” he mumbled, “ Didn’t manage to bring any food back. You’ll forgive me won’t you?” Australia felt like a hypocrite, he wanted reassurance, knew he deserved absolutely none of it at all. 

Steve brushed his snout against his leg again and curled up next to him.

“ Grahl.” An affirmative yes.

Australia stroked Steve’s head and shut his eyes.

The exhaustion crashed down on him like a smothering blanket.

" One day everyone in this house is gonna leave, Steve..." Australia said, " He can't keep us here forever."

" Greaahhr?" Steve replied.

Australia let out a quiet, shaky snicker: " That's right, Steve. One day we'll have so many cookies, neither of us could possibly finish them all."

 


End file.
